Facing Reality
by Love-slave
Summary: Dean has faced all sorts of monsters before, but none of them have confused him as much as this. Sam/Dean wincest
1. Chapter 1

AN: this is cross-posted to my livejournal here rukaya007(.)livejournal(.)com. That's where I hide all of my wincest :)and updates are definitely faster there if you're interested. Please enjoy this story! I just had to write it! :P

Facing Reality

Chapter one

It wasn't the first time that they'd hunted a djinn. Not by a long shot.

It wasn't even Dean's first time letting one of the things get to him. In those last, split seconds before Deans life started over he had a sudden and frighteningly clear understanding of what was about to happen.

He knew that it was going to get him, tie his body up in its lair and drain the life from him bit by bit while he thought he was living out his dream life. He also knew that he was going to let it.

That was perhaps the only thing that really surprised him.

They had won. The apocalypse was over, completely avoided in fact.

Sam was alive and well, he had his soul back and things were better between them than they had been in so long.

Everything was fixed. So why did he want things different again? Why at the last second did he hesitate and let the thing take him away?

He felt the cold fingers slide around him like ice and suddenly he was being shaken awake.

It took longer than it should have for Dean to figure out where he was, for his eyes to adjust to the bright light and for Sam's hands on him to feel like anything other than the cold grip of the unknown.

Finally, he blinked up at his brother's concerned face and pushed up into a sitting position.

Sam stepped back and sank into the bed next to Dean's making him realize with a weird sinking feeling that he was in their room.

It was a particularly sleazy place that smelled a lot like Cheetos when they'd first checked in two nights ago, but right now the curtains were pulled back, the sun shining into the room and making it bearable. Sam was staring at him, that look on his face that said clearly that he was waiting and it was just so _'normal'_ that Dean had to look away.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Three," Sam answered. "You fell asleep about an hour ago."

Dean looked down at the bed, spotting the remote lying next to his thigh. An episode of Touched by An Angel was playing on TV and he shut it off with a shudder before Monica started glowing.

"You started moaning," Sam said. "And then crying out—"

"Okay," Dean interrupted. "I don't need a play-by-play, Sammy."

He pushed up out of bed, ignoring Sam's searching eyes and went to the washroom. He locked the door behind him and spent a minute splashing his face with cold water before he finally looked at himself.

He was pale and his eyes wide but he was otherwise completely normal. No sign of any scuffle, not a scratch on him. In fact the only true sign that anything had happened was that Dean's hands were still shaking.

When he finally came out Sam was sitting at the small table, hunched over his lap top. Relieved that he was distracted, Dean pulled open his bag looking for a clean shirt.

The one he was wearing was cold with sweat which was kind of embarrassing considering how cold the weather was in North Carolina right now. Besides it hadn't been such a scary dream to begin with, and definitely not scary enough to land him in a cold sweat. Dean had dealt with scarier things in real life without so much as flinching. Hell, even the fairies had given him more trouble.

"So, do you want to talk about it?"

Dean flinched at the sudden sound of Sam's voice and sighed, turning on his brother.

"What's there to talk about Sam? It was just a nightmare."

Sam raised his eyebrows and nodded, clearly stopping himself from saying more. Maybe he wanted to point out that it must have been bad if Dean had been scared. Maybe he wanted to point out that it was possibly the first time he'd seen his brother jerk awake in fear.

Dean yanked a shirt free and pulled it on, ignoring the feel of Sam's questioning gaze on his back. Man, it sucked living in such close quarters sometimes.

"Anything on the case?" he asked.

"No," Sam answered grimly. "Emily Carson's husband confessed to the murder this morning. He had the murder weapon hidden in his dashboard."

"So the vengeful spirit?"

"Definitely not there."

Dean let out a sigh of frustration. They had driven four hours out of their way to check out the possible haunting the day before but nothing substantial had showed up and the EMF hadn't even blipped.

"But," Sam said, suddenly sounding hopeful, "there's what looks like a werewolf in Ohio."

That comment had Dean pausing for several reasons.

He looked at Sam, unsure for a moment whether he was pulling his leg or being serious.

They hadn't seen a single werewolf since Madison and now that Sam had his soul back Dean hadn't really thought they would ever hunt one if they could avoid it.

Then of course there was the other issue.

"Is this really the time?"

Sam just looked at him.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

He looked genuinely confused which just made Dean's head hurt.

"Man, why are you putting up such a fight on this one?" he asked.

Frowning, Sam shut his computer, fixing his full attention on his brother.

"Dean, I have no clue what you're talking about."

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" he asked. "_The mother."_

Sam raised a brow and snorted.

"Okay, Dean, maybe you need to spell it out a little more clearly than that."

"Forget it," Dean muttered. Sam had been more or less avoiding the issue since The Mother had risen properly, dragging Dean on any hunt in the vicinity. What was another one?

"You want to go hunt a werewolf, we'll go hunt a werewolf, but sooner or later we're going to have to deal with this."

He stuffed his things into his bag before Sam even had the chance to stand up and a moment later was out in the cool air, not so softly shutting the door behind him.

A minute later Sam was behind him, looking genuinely confused and uncertain.

The expression kicked Dean in the gut and he looked away. After so long without his emotions they looked almost magnified in Sam now. And in all honestly, he had _never_ liked upsetting his brother.

They drove in silence for more than two hours before they had to stop for gas. When Dean got back in the car and started to pull out of the lot Sam placed a hand on his leg.

It was done in such a comforting way that the tension literally drained from Dean before he really registered it. He shot Sam a look and without having to be told, his brother pulled his hand away, crossing his arms, and continuing to stare out the window as he had been before.

They did drive through for dinner and still didn't get into town until after midnight. It would have been perfect timing if the lunar cycle was on, but they were a night early.

He stretched by the car while Sam checked them in, his joints cracking and popping in the cool night air. Whatever tension had filled the car for most of the day had long since drained away over the hours but it all came flooding back when Dean opened the door and saw their room.

It was fairly large for what Dean was use to. The TV looked to be from this decade and the desk was big enough for Sam to spread his research out.

Dean would have said that they'd lucked out if not for the bed. The single, large, king sized bed that was erected in the centre of the room like a freaking altar.

"What the hell is that?" he asked gesturing at the monstrosity.

Sam shrugged.

"I could do without the pink sheets, but it doesn't look that bad."

He dropped his pack onto the floor and shrugged out of his jacket while Dean stared at him.

Sam had never once asked for a single bed for the two of them but other people made assumptions of their own on more than one occasion.

"Do you want me to go get a different room?" he asked.

Sam shrugged. "This room is fine."

He opened the washroom door.

"Dude, there's an actual bath tub!"

"Uh-huh. When was the last time you actually fit in a bath tub?"

Sam laughed.

"Good point," he said.

When Sam came out of the room, Dean was still standing at the door looking in.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Dean gestured to the bed with an awkward shrug. Did this really require an explanation? It was weird to sleep together unless they really had to. They weren't little kids anymore.

"Were there no rooms with two separate beds?"

"Dean…" Sam stared at Dean for a moment and then sat slowly on the edge of the bed and with a sinking feeling Dean finally realized that something was wrong.

"You're confusing the hell out of me," he finally whispered. "Did I do something?"

Dean opened and closed his mouth drawing a blank on how to answer that.

What was there to tell?

"You got one king sized bed instead of queens?"

He left the door coming to stand in front of Sam. His brother had made his hackles rise more times than he could count over the past year but never for something like this. Never for reaching out and taking Deans hand in his own, for stroking his skin with a callused finger.

"I thought that's how we did things now?" he asked.

Sam's evident uncertainty made Deans gut twist.

His voice was shaking but he asked anyway.

"And why would you think that?"

Sam just looked up at him, his eyes pleading with full force for Dean to just understand.

"Whats the point of having your own bed if you're only ever going to be sleeping in mine?"

Maybe Sam was the college boy but Dean didn't need a fancy education to know what Sam meant. The look in his eyes, their joined hands, the goddamn bed made it all very obvious.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: thanks for following along everyone! 3 I hope you like this chapter, it sets things up a bit more :P

Chapter Two

"Dean?"

Maybe it should have felt worse, ignoring his brother so blatantly but all Dean felt was cold shock.

This was all wrong. The last time he'd been attacked by a djinn Dean had been transported, or so he'd thought, into a world where everything that had gone wrong in his life hadn't happened.

Right now he was, what, playing house with his own brother? It didn't add up.

"Dean, seriously, open the door."

Dean looked toward Sam's voice. The washroom door was locked in between them and for an exhausting moment Dean entertained the idea of opening it. The thought alone of reasoning with Fake-Sam was tiring.

Sam wouldn't believe him, dedicated as he was to this false reality, and Dean would be stuck just like last time trying to convince him of the truth.

Hell, he'd even dragged his fake brother off to hunt the djinn the last time. He wouldn't make that same mistake twice.

This wasn't Sam or any form of him. They didn't and never _had_ done anything to make them more or less than just brothers. That thing on the other side of the door was an extension of Dean's and the Djinn's minds working in twisted unison to fool him.

Well he wouldn't be fooled again. The only way out of this was death.

Sitting up on the toilet Dean wracked the washroom for something sharp. His eyes rested on the bathtub.

Call him melodramatic, but Dean just didn't think it was classy to die in a bathtub. He needed something quick, something that would make the ordeal as painless as—

"You lose something in there?"

Dean jumped and swiveled to face Sam, who was standing in the open doorway with his lock pick in hand.

"Haven't you heard of knocking?" Dean asked.

"I did knock," Sam said, coming into the room. "Repeatedly, actually."

He sat down on the edge of the tub after glancing in to find what Dean had been staring at. When he saw nothing was there he fixed his eyes on Dean.

"You want to tell me what's going on yet?"

Dean considered it, actually _genuinely_ did because Sam was doing the puppy-eyed thing and Dean had never been able to resist it. Judging by how hard Sam was laying it on, he knew that too.

Instead, Dean laughed and looked away. The sound came out rough, more disappointed than happy and he grimaced.

"What's the point Sammy, you're not even real."

That got Sam's attention.

His eyes widened, his body going incredibly still.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked slowly.

Dean shut his eyes, stealing himself for what was about to happen. Finally he stood up.

He felt Sam rise to his feet behind him, follow him from the room.

Dean's pack was still by the door, but Sam's was laying open on the table, the butt of a knife poking out the side pocket where Sam carried his spare.

Dean pulled it out, flipping it in his hand. When Sam didn't move Dean turned to him, finding his brother standing still with his hands raised in surrender.

"Dean, whatever you think is real right now, you have to put the knife down. Its really me here."

Dean tried to smile, but this was just too twisted. How did he end up in this same situation twice?

"This knife isn't for you Sammy," he said, and swung the blade toward his stomach.

Either Sammy was a lot faster than Dean knew or Dean was slower because the knife never touched his skin and in an instant it was being wrestled from Dean's grasp.

"Dean, no," Sam gasped desperately and they fell back onto the bed, still fighting. Dean was reminded perversely of previous fights, the nasty witch attack on one of Sam's last hunt's before Stanford, their first time fighting the Trickster. When Sam whispered "please," it was all Dean could do to loosen his grip and let the knife fall free.

Sam didn't move like Dean expected him to, to grab the knife, tie him up maybe, instead he stayed put, laying on top of Dean, breathing hard. When he lifted his head and looked down at him his eyes were wide and scared.

"What would make you try that Dean?" he demanded.

Dean looked away.

"Let go of me."

Sam shook his head.

"No," he whispered and his grip on Dean's wrists tightened.

Damn it, he couldn't do this if this Sam was so convincing.

"You need to tell me what got you?" he pressed on. "You need to tell me what you think is really going on here, man."

Dean groaned.

"It was a Djinn, okay! A Freaking Djinn got me and you know it, now let me go."

The sudden comprehension in Sam's eyes would have been comical if it wasn't so frustrating.

"You think this is a Djinn acid trip?" he asked.

Dean sighed and nodded.

Sam frowned.

"Dean we had our asses kicked by _Angels _not too long ago. I had no soul for a year. You—you were kidnapped by _fairies_, what about that sounds like a dream come true?"

Dean opened his mouth to answer but stopped. It was a valid point but…

"Well then how do you explain _this_ sudden development?" he asked indicating the bed with an awkward head jerk.

Sam looked at him funny, pushing up so that he was almost straddling Dean, his frown deepening.

"Dean… this isn't a sudden development."

Of all the things Sam could have said, this was the last that Dean expected.

Stunned, he stared up at Sam.

"This has been going on a long time Dean. Since—god since before I left for Stanford."

If Sam hadn't been holding Dean down Dean was sure he still wouldn't have been able to move.

"Something's screwed with your memories," Sam said. "You don't remember any of it?" he asked.

He looked down at Dean so full of regret that Dean suddenly wished it _had_ happened, that he remembered it just so Sam wouldn't be looking at him that way.

Instead he shook his head.

"Its not true," he said.

Sam swallowed, his fingers digging into Dean's wrist.

"It _is_ Dean, I promise."

Dean snorted. What good was a promise from a mirage?

"One week," Sam suddenly said. "Give me one week, Dean."

"For what?"

"One week to prove to you that this is real. Without you putting up a fight or trying to kill yourself."

The determined tone of his voice made Dean grimace. His brother was stubborn as an OX. When he got that tone things went his way, or else.

"And at the end of the week? Then what?"

"Then we go on like normal, because you'll be yourself by then."

Dean turned away, he didn't want to agree, didn't want to give in without a fight, but his eyes landed on Sam's hand, gripping him tightly.

"What's that?" he demanded. "Sam, are you bleeding?"

He fought to pull his hands free but Sam just shook them still.

"Not until you promise," he said.

"Fine, fine, just let me go."

Sam lifted off him at once, freeing Dean to wiggle the feeling back into his fingers while he stooped to pick up the knife and stuff it back into his bag. He shot Dean a look and then carried it into the washroom with him. Unnecessary really considering that Dean had his own weapons…

After a moment of staring dejectedly up at the stained ceiling, he pushed out of the unnecessarily soft bed.

The door was still unlocked, the Impala sitting in the parking spot clearly in view of the window, Dean's pack was still sitting where he'd left it, the keys were jingling in his pocket.

If Sam was trying to keep him on lock-down he was failing miserably. All that meant was that he was doing the exact opposite. He was trusting Dean.

He pushed the frilly curtains back further, watching as a beat up Honda rattled out of the lot. Last time this had happened everything had been spot-on real. Did that mean there really was a—he looked up at the sign—Flamingo Inn here in real life?

If that were the case then the only thing not real here was…

He looked over at the washroom where a sliver of Sam was visible through the slightly open door.

Dean guessed that was an invitation.

He found Sam sitting on the toilet holding toilet paper to his hand. The little garbage was filled with red bundles of it and Dean felt a stirring of guilt despite himself. He really should leave, there was no point in helping him when the only reason Sam was even here was to keep Dean trapped. But curiosity and the big brother gene won out and Dean sat on the edge of the tub in a reverse imitation of before.

He took Sam's hand in his own, ignoring any implications and pulled the paper away. It was almost done bleeding now, the skin cleanly sliced in three spots from their struggle with the knife.

"I didn't think you were gonna bother coming in here," Sam said tersely.

"Why not?" he asked. "I thought we were… _closer_ in this place."

Sam shrugged.

"Maybe," he said.

He watched in silence as Dean pulled out the alcohol, pouring it into a cotton ball from the first aid kit and didn't so much as flinch when Dean dabbed it along the wound.

"I don't get it," he said finally. "I can't imagine our lives without what we have as a part of it."

Dean didn't know how to answer that. The thousands of questions that suddenly rang through his head didn't seem like the right response. _Why? What's so important about your life that you think it's better than mine? What's worth destroying your relationship with your brother for? What is it that we have exactly? What do we do? What are the differences?_

They all flooded his brain at once fighting for room through his lips and all getting jammed in his mouth on the way out. So he just sat there with his mouth hanging open until Sam spoke again.

"Did our mom die when I was six months old?" he asked.

Surprised, Dean nodded.

"The yellow eyed demon, right? And then we were raised on the road?"

Dean finally found his voice.

"Yeah, but what-?"

"Jus humor me," Sam interrupted.

"How did Dad die?"

Dean swallowed.

"He traded his soul, Sam you know that."

He nodded.

"Yeah Dean I do. And then you did the same for me."

If this was supposed to be a guilt trip it was freaking working.

He nodded. So much for having his voice back.

"By the time you came back I was-"

"Shacked up with Ruby I know, Sam why are you doing this?"

"Because I need to know if anything else is different, Dean."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Dean reached for the first aid kit but Sam handed him the gauze before he got to it.

"So what's the verdict?" he asked, despite himself.

"Everything's the same."

"Except us."

"Except us."

They fell silent as Dean rolled the gauze carefully around Sam's hand but again he broke the silence with a question that Dean didn't know how to answer.

"How do you live with me?"

Dean just glanced at him this time, then quickly back to his work. He knew what Sam meant unfortunately but what was there to say?

"We drive. We hunt. We sleep in shit motels and eat junk food and save the world from evil."

Sam didn't seem to see the humour.

"It sounds lonely."

Dean frowned.

"How can it be lonely when I have you?"

In retrospect it _was_ a smooth line. Dean usually came on like butter without even trying, but not usually on his brother. That didn't stop Sam from leaning in and planting his lips furtively against Dean's for a heart-stopping moment.

When he pulled back his eyes were shining.

"At least I know that it's still _my_ Dean in there," he whispered.

"Why?"

"Because _I'm_ your dream come true."


End file.
